


We Mean It, But I Promise We're Not Mean

by patster223



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Boxing, Gen, Identity Reveal, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you to teach me to fight,” Karen says again.</p><p>“And what makes you think that I can teach you?” Matt says. His mouth attempts something like a smile -– bland, innocent, <em>no Daredevil here, nope, not me</em> -– but it’s more of a grimace than anything else.</p><p>God, he is <em>such</em> a bad liar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Mean It, But I Promise We're Not Mean

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I want more Karen POV gosh dang it. Thanks to [the-oxford-english-fangeek](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/) for betaing this! Title from Glory and Gore by Lorde.

For a lawyer, Matt Murdock can’t lie for shit.

Oh sure, he can speak quite eloquently. When it comes to defending his principles – to defending _people_ – Matt finds the words that cut and burn. He delivers them with swift and brutal force until nothing is left standing in the way of the truth. He speaks like he fights.

Still doesn’t mean that he can lie.

“Y-you want me to _what_?” Matt stammers.

Karen wants to roll her eyes. She suspects that it’s purely society’s ableism that keeps Matt’s identity safe at this point (what, a _blind guy_ being a _superhero_?). Because it’s definitely not _Matt_ who’s keeping that secret under wraps. _His_ knuckles are white from where he’s gripping his cane too hard, _he_ is the one who twitched with his whole body when she initiated this conversation.

“I want you to teach me to fight,” Karen says again.

“And what makes you think that I can teach you?” Matt says. His mouth attempts something like a smile – bland, innocent, _no Daredevil here, nope, not me_ – but it’s more of a grimace than anything else.

“Foggy told me you like to box,” Karen says with a shrug. She has to keep this casual, otherwise Matt will get suspicious. Or worse: he won’t bite. “He says you’re not too bad.”

“Foggy said that?” Matt raises an eyebrow. It’s a clear _did he now,_ and Karen almost feels bad for dragging Foggy into this, but, well. It’s not a _lie_. Foggy _did_ tell her…after a substantial amount of questioning on her part.

“Just something he mentioned offhand,” Karen says. It’s true enough. Foggy had been _very_ quick to change the subject after Karen had gotten that scrap of information.

Matt’s cane creaks as his grip relaxes slightly. He smiles again, and this time its blandness is slightly more genuine, bolstered by the chuckle that comes along with it. “It’s just a hobby. I’m not really qualified to teach boxing lessons. Aren’t there classes you could take somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Ah,” Karen says, “you mean the recently gentrified Hell's’ Kitchen? Where most of the gyms are part spa, and charge an arm and a leg just to get in the door? That Hell’s Kitchen?” Gentrification has been a sore spot for all of them, ever since…ever since Elena. It’s a low blow for Karen to bring it up, and she knows it, but- but she needs to _know_. She needs _proof._

Matt purses his lips. “Karen, you shouldn’t even have to learn how to fight-”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Karen says sharply. “None of us should. But that was before Hell’s Kitchen became a battleground. Before Elena and Ben, and…and everything else that happened in order for us to get here. I’m not asking to become an expert, Matt –- I don’t even need to be able to _use_ it – it…it would just help me feel a bit safer. And I’d feel a hell of a lot better if it were you teaching me instead of some old, drunk muscle guy.”

“Foggy would tell you that most of those guys are harmless,” Matt says softly. He toys with the strap of his cane, bites his lip. Clearly debating whether helping Karen is worth the risk of exposure. But it’s _Matt:_ his answer is obvious. Karen doesn’t know a lot of things -– not about Daredevil or any of this -- but she knows that when it counts, Matt will always try to protect her.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Okay, I can teach you a few moves. Only a few though. Like I said, it’s just a hobby. I really don’t know that much.”

His words are accompanied by a little, self-deprecating grin that Karen doesn’t believe for a second.

 

***

 

Realizing that Matt is Daredevil isn’t a dramatic moment for Karen. He doesn’t confess it to her, he doesn’t rip off his mask to reveal sightless eyes, he doesn’t suddenly backflip out the window while still in his civvies.

No, he just _smiles._ That’s how Karen knows.

She’s sitting in court, watching Matt cross-examine the nasty piece of work who’s framing their client. The slimebag slips up, mixes up his story, and Matt _pounces._ His voice is ice as he unpacks the man’s words, as he takes the prosecution’s case _apart._ Afterward, he _grins_ , and-

And Karen’s seen that grin before. It’s not Matt’s. Matt’s smile is a sweet, honest sort of thing.

 _This_ is not that: this is vicious, triumphant, almost _wild_ _._ Karen’s watched and rewatched every scrap of Daredevil footage she could find, and she knows: that’s _his_ smile. Everything clicks into place –- the injuries, Matt and Foggy’s fight, _all of it_ \-- and she _knows._

Her initial instinct it to pull Matt aside, interrogate him and find out _everything_. But she has no evidence. And she remembers what Ben used to say: the only things that matter are the things you can _prove_.

So she sets out to find proof. It’s not like she lied to Matt about why she wants to box -– she _would_ feel safer for it. But she also knows that the only way she’s going to prove that Matt’s secret is if she catches him off-guard.

And that’s how she winds up taking boxing lessons from Daredevil.

Privately, Karen blames New York. Nothing of this magnitude of weirdness ever happened to her before she moved to New York.

 

***

 

“So, what now? You want me to hit you as hard as I can?”

Matt laughs. “I don’t think they box in Fight Club. Or, at least, it didn’t _sound_ like those fights were regulation ones.”

“I’m not sure. To be honest, I was a bit too busy watching Brad Pitt be shirtless during those scenes to pay much attention to the choreography.”

“He has a nice voice,” Matt says in agreement. He taps his way to a bench, sets his bag down. “But this isn’t Fight Club, Karen. There are rules in the ring, principles you have to follow. Otherwise, it’s not a fight –- it’s just violence.”

“I thought violence was the whole point of this,” Karen says. She sets her bag down next to his, looks around the gym. It’s old, dusty -– kind of _looks_ like it could’ve been used as a Fight Club set.

Matt’s quiet as he rummages through his bag, only speaks again once he finds a roll of tape at the bottom.

“Come over here,” he says. “I’ll tape your hands for you. This is supposed to be the first thing I teach you, but –- if you’re as impatient as I was when I first learned, you probably just want to throw punches right now.”

“Am I that obvious?” Karen says sheepishly.

“Just a little bit,” Matt says. His lips quirk into a smile. “You did start our lesson by quoting Fight Club to me.”

Matt’s fingers move carefully as he wraps her hands. The tape is cool and tight against Karen's skin, a startling contrast to the warm and calloused touch of Matt’s own hands.

“In a fight, both people come into the ring as equals,” Matt says as he works. “They agree that there are certain lines that can’t be crossed: no hitting below the belt, for example. You adhere to these rules, you exercise control, you maintain respect. Otherwise, you’re not fighting an equal anymore. You’re just trying to destroy another person.”

That’s rich, coming from a guy who’s put at least two people in the hospital in the past month.

“Speaking from personal experience?” Karen says, wincing as her words come out more biting than curious _._ She’s supposed to be observing Matt right now, not interrogating him.

Matt pauses, tilts his head curiously. “Do you think I get in a lot of fights, Karen?”

“No, I was just, ah -– just remembering your ‘car accident.’”

Matt finishes with her hands and pulls out another length of tape for his own. This time, his movements are quick, rough. The motion is so self-assured that it rings of _routine,_ of _balance._ He must have done this hundreds of times before. Karen wonders just how long he’s been fighting.

“Is that why you asked me to do this?” Matt says, frowning now. “To ask about that night? I thought we'd already resolved this –- it was nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like nothing at the time,” Karen says quietly. “Not to Foggy.”

“…Maybe not,” Matt admits. “But like I said, it’s been resolved. Fisk is in jail, Foggy and I are fine. It’s okay now.”

Karen digs her fingernails into her palms, but the tape around her hands leaves the action toothless.

 _Yes, you and Foggy are fine, but what about me_? she wants to scream. _How can you talk about ‘maintaining respect’ when you leave me in the dark and expect me to be content there? How can you lecture me about violence like a fucking hypocrite and pretend that everything else is okay?_

Matt places a wrapped hand on hers. “Karen?”

“It’s fine,” she says. Her voice shakes, and she’s not surprised when Matt raises a skeptical brow. “No, really, it is. I came here to box, and I want to learn how to box. So come on, Murdock: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly, Matt does _not_ hit her as hard as he can. Hell, he doesn’t hit her at all. He doesn’t let her into the ring, _period._

Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect to be sparring with Matt right away, but she didn’t think that the majority of her first lesson would be spent just on _stances._ Matt teaches Karen the rules of the ring in between telling her that she needs to relax her knees.

How he _knows_ that her knees are too tense is beyond her. Karen's not sure if that's a Daredevil thing or a I-survived-law-school-and-can-now-smell-weakness-a-mile-away thing. She suspects it’s a combination of the two.

“Do I _ever_ get to hit a punching bag?” Karen says, slipping into a semi-crouch on Matt’s command. “I always got the feeling that the punching bit was a pretty important part of boxing.”

“So is standing,” Matt says. He taps his cane gently -– _so_ gently, and then looks guilty as hell for doing it -– against her knees. He nods, satisfied. “It’s not enough just to throw punches -– you have to be able to take them too. And that means having a good stance.”

Jesus. Karen knows that Matt’s a disciplined guy, but his intensity right now is nearly alarming. A life or death sort of deal.

Though, she supposes that for Matt, it usually is.

“I try not to take too many punches, Matt,” she tries to quip, unsure of how to break Matt’s intensity without scaring him off. “I have my mace for that.”

Matt falters, swallows heavily. “Karen…maybe I’m not the best person to be-”

“Yes, you are,” Karen says firmly. “I can handle it. Trust me, you are _nothing_ compared to my high school basketball coach.”

“Yeah?”

“He made us do drills in the _rain._ For two hours. I nearly got pneumonia. God, the number of times I wanted to smash his face in with a basketball...”

“I know the feeling,” Matt says. “My, ah, ‘coach’ was the same way.”

Karen suspects there’s more to the story than that, but she only says, “Let me guess: debate coach.”

Matt smiles. “Yeah, something like that.”

He clears his throat, gestures in the general direction of the punching bags. “Enough stance practice. I promised that I’d let you throw a punch before we got out of here, Ms. Page, and I intend to keep that promise.”

 

***

 

Punching is something that Karen is _good_ at.

She doesn’t have the muscle to do it properly, not at first. But muscle is something that can be earned with time and effort, both of which Karen is willing to give. After a month of lessons, she’s already strong enough to make the bag shake with her blows.

But it’s not about muscle, not really. No, Karen is good at boxing because it’s all about _focus_. Focusing on your stance, on your breathing, on keeping your gloves up. Focus on these things, focus on what’s in front of you, and _don’t let go_ , don’t let your guard down, don’t _falter._

Karen already lives these principles: a boxing ring is just a different venue for them to be staged in. It doesn’t matter if she’s not particularly skilled. She can make up for in brutal, unrelenting determination. She always has. After all, there’s a reason why she’s learning _boxing_ just to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Matt Murdock.

So yeah, Karen is good at boxing. But Matt…Matt is _amazing_ at boxing.

He’s determined, like her, but it’s more than that. Karen punches because it’s a means to an end: proving that Matt is Daredevil. Matt punches like it’s a means for him to _live_ : like fighting is his _air_ , his _blood,_ his _prayers._

Why he does it is no longer a mystery to Karen. It’s simply who Matt _is._

Karen only ever catches him at it when she comes to their lessons early. Matt’s always there, pounding at the bag, attacking it with that brutal smile -– that Daredevil grin that Karen is quickly beginning to realize is a _Matt_ grin too.

Of course, the moment he realizes she’s there, he stops. He throws his punches with more control, and his shoulders hunch over with the weight of what seems like guilt.

That should be all the proof that Karen needs. No one but Daredevil knows how to fight like that in Hell’s Kitchen. But...

But she can’t stop. She needs answers, she needs to know _everything._ The mystery of Daredevil is one that Karen’s finally got a hold of, and she’s not letting go now. She worries at it like it’s a loose thread, worries and worries, and wonders what will happen when it finally unravels.

 

***

 

As determined as Karen is, she’s also impatient. She absorbs the rules of boxing quickly. She badgers Matt into teaching her _more,_ pushing her harder, faster. Matt lets her, even though he probably shouldn’t. Karen doesn’t think that he can help himself either.

It’s not long before she has bruises covering her arms from where the punching bag took her by surprise. A month and a half into their lessons, she ends up holding her bruised arm gingerly at work, wincing every time she moves it.

Foggy notices, of course.

“Jesus, what happened to your elbow?” Foggy says. “Get into a brawl with your kitchen cabinet again? I could probably fix that loose door myself, you know.”

“It’s fine, Foggy,” Karen says. “It wasn’t the kitchen cabinet.”

“Your side table then? Karen, if your furniture is really this menacing, now might be the time to call for reinforcements. I’ve still got my baseball bat."

Karen laughs. “As appealing as the offer to destroy my furniture sounds, it’s really fine, Foggy. Matt’s been giving me boxing lessons, and I wasn’t careful enough with the punching bag, that’s all.”

“Matt is _what_.” Foggy glares at Matt’s office, but its door remains closed and its inhabitant remains unaware of Foggy’s ire. “How long has this been going on?”

“A little over a month?” Karen bites her lip. “Foggy, I swear, we weren’t trying to hide it from you or anything. It just –- never came up.”

“Two people in this office are a part of an apparently secret fight club, and that just…never came up,” Foggy says, incredulous. He rubs a weary hand across his face.

“First rule of fight club?” Karen says weakly. She really hadn’t _meant_ to keep this from Foggy, but –- apparently Matt hadn’t told him either, and she wonders why.

“Karen-”

“Look, it wouldn’t be the first time that two people in this office have kept a secret from the third.”

Foggy winces as if he’s been struck. _Fuck._ Karen’s words may not have been below the belt -– how could they have been, when that very fight nearly destroyed everything they were? –- but that doesn’t meant they were _fair._

“I’m sorry,” Karen says. “I really thought Matt would tell you. Or that it would come up naturally, and then it never did, and…I just knew you’d be worried about me, I guess. I didn’t think you’d approve.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” Foggy sighs. “And it's not for the reasons you think, okay? If you want to defend yourself, fine. After everything we’ve been through, I can’t pretend it’s not a good idea. It’s just that fighting -- _boxing_ , it’s a weird thing for Matt. It’s weird and complicated and…not always healthy, to be honest. He’s got issues, and that’s how he deals with them. Which is…whatever. I just don’t want you to get too sucked into all that.”

He’s not wrong. Karen _knows_ that she’s getting too sucked in for her own good. That what Matt does -– what _Daredevil_ does -– can’t be healthy.

But fuck, Karen’s not healthy either. Because when she sees the anger and the pain that Matt throws into his punches, she feels _recognition._ Because no matter what she does -– how _good_ she tries to be –- sometimes it feels like she’s only made out of gunpowder residue and fear.

Boxing has helped, a little. The aches and bruises take the edge off of her nightmares. It’s a puzzle she can commit herself to solving, something she can focus on.

“I can take care of myself, Foggy,” Karen says softly, thinking that it’s probably true, for the most part.

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says. “Just- just remember that you don’t have to, okay? Matt and I are here for you. And if those kitchen cabinets start giving you more crap, my baseball bat is always at your service.”

Karen laughs, thankful that Foggy can give her a reason to. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

***

 

At their next lesson, Karen deals out a right hook strong enough to rattle the punching bag’s chains, and Matt says, “That’s enough, don’t you think?”

Karen raises an eyebrow at him, then remembers that he can’t see it. Or probably can’t see it. She still hasn’t worked out how he does the Daredevil thing. “We’ve only been going a half an hour.”

“No, I mean -– in general, with the lessons. With a right hook like that, I don’t know how much more I can teach you. We’ve covered most of the basics.” Matt’s smile is placid, benign: meant to appease clients, juries –- and now her. It makes Karen grit her teeth.

“We’ve _barely_ covered the basics,” she points out. “You only taught me about uppercuts a couple weeks ago! And you’ve taught me next to _no_ defensive moves. Only slipping and bobbing, which just happen to be the only things that you _could_ teach me without having to try to hit me.”

Matt shifts guiltily. So he _has_ been doing that on purpose. Too afraid to hurt Karen, or too afraid of revealing his secret?

Karen sighs. Either way, she doesn’t have the patience for it. “I thought that knowing how to take punches was more important than knowing how to throw them.”

Matt tilts his head in her direction, silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, “The D.A.'s office should count themselves lucky you haven’t passed the bar -- they wouldn’t stand a chance against you. I didn’t know you’d researched boxing so thoroughly.”

“Of course I did. I didn’t just ask for lessons on some whim, Matt.”

“I know you didn’t,” Matt says. “And I know this is important to you, Karen. But I don’t think I’m the best person to be teaching you.”

“I don’t care,” Karen says. “You’re the only person I trust to do this with me.”

Matt kneads his fist against his forehead. “Look, the other day, Foggy pulled me aside-”

“And what? Told you that he didn’t want me to get ‘sucked into your issues?’”

“Basically,” Matt says. “But maybe he’s right. It took Foggy pointing it out to me to see how hard I’ve been pushing you -– before he did, I barely noticed. That’s worse that some shitty high school basketball coach. It’s irresponsible, and it’s not fair to you.”

Karen can’t disagree with him. Matt isn’t a great teacher. His restraint is too fought for, too hard earned for him to be truly patient with her. He lets her push herself too hard, lets her pound her fists raw against the bag. He doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he just slips up, loses himself in discipline and routine.

Shit, Foggy’s right. She came here to learn about Daredevil and really _did_ walk right into Matt’s sea of issues. Then again, those two things aren’t exactly separate.

“So that’s it then?” she says “We’re just done?”

“Maybe it’d be for the best"

"I don't believe that."

 

Matt reaches out to touch the punching bag, worries at its seam with his thumb. "Karen...you know that- you know that coach I was telling you about?”

“Yeah, the one who was an asshole or whatever?”

“He really was an asshole,” Matt says. His lips twitch into a pained facsimile of a smile. “He taught me a lot of what I know. He pushed me hard, taught me to push _myself_ hard. At the time, it seemed perfect. He didn’t walk on glass around me, he saw my potential. But in retrospect, he probably pushed me a bit too hard, he…it turns out he wasn’t that great of a teacher.”

“And you don’t want to be like him? Is that it?” Karen says.

“I’ve spent a long time trying _not_ to be,” Matt says, flicking his finger against the punching bag. “And then time and time again it turns out that I _am_.”

“Matt…” Karen says softly. “If this guy is as much of an asshole as you say he is, then do you really think he would have looked at me twice when we first met at the precinct? Let alone befriend me, let alone teach me?”

Matt chuckles. “Sorry, sorry, I, ah – never mind. No, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice. Or done any of that. He’s not the kind of guy who makes friends. Plus, he’s kind of a misogynist.”

“Figures,” Karen says, rolling her eyes. “Matt, you’re not like that guy. You knew this was something I needed, and you helped me do it. You trusted me to know that this is what I wanted. Now, if you don’t think that’s the kind of person who should be teaching me, then you don’t have to do this anymore, you can…you can walk away. But you’re _not_ like him.”

“Yeah?” Matt’s voice is small, unsure. _God,_ Karen wants to kick that debate coach’s -– or _whatever_ he was –- ass.

“Yes,” she says emphatically. “Okay, maybe you’re not the best teacher, but, luckily for you, I am an _excellent_ student. If you stay, I promise I won’t let you push me too hard. Deal?”

Matt smiles, takes his hand off of the punching bag so that he can pat her on the shoulder. “Deal.”

 

***

 

It figures that Karen chooses now -– when Matt and her have finally achieved a sort of equilibrium -– to tear it all down. _You push too hard_ , her mom has said, her ex-boyfriends have said, _everyone_ except maybe Ben has said. _Can’t you just be happy with the way things are?_

She wraps her hands. Each layer of the tape feels like a barrier erected. When she’s done, she squeezes her hand into a fist to test the elasticity of the tape. It feels good, tight, like a second skin: like armor.

“We should spar in the ring today,” she says, and Matt nearly drops his cane in surprise.

“W-why?” he finally manages.

Because this isn’t working. Because pounding her fists against a punching bag isn’t scaring away the nightmares anymore.

Because she and Matt have been doing this dance for _months,_ and she is _tired._ Exhausted to the point where the way her body aches after a lesson doesn’t even feel _real_ anymore.

Maybe her mom and her ex-boyfriends were right. Maybe Karen does push too hard: pushes until there’s nothing left of herself.

“I can only punch the bag so many times, Matt,” she says. “I need an actual sparring partner if I’m ever going to improve.”

Matt’s lips twist into a sharp frown. “You’ve been doing fine without. If you really want, this weekend we can try to find someone at your skill level who needs a partner, and-”

“I told you,” Karen says. “I don’t…I don’t trust anyone else with this. It wouldn’t have to-”

Matt shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry, Karen, it just doesn’t seem necessary-”

“Matt. _Please._ ”

Karen is beyond coming up with articulate arguments, beyond being able to cleverly coax Matt into doing this.

God, she is so _tired._

Matt looks tired too. He’s slouching where he sits on the bench. There’s a new bruise on his cheek: one he thinks Karen doesn’t notice.

How could he possibly think that she doesn’t notice?

Matt inclines his head toward her and is silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he eventually says. “Yeah, alright. There’s probably some spare gloves here we can use. Just a quick round though, okay? I can hear well enough to be able to box, kind of, but I really shouldn’t be getting in fights.”

Oh, you _hypocrite._

“Fair enough,” Karen says. Her hand shakes slightly as she checks the tape one last time. Still tight. She’s as ready as she’ll ever be. She avoids looking at Matt as she slips her phone into her pocket, as she rises to her feet.

“And Karen?”

“Yeah?”

Matt gives her a wry grin. “There’s no point in doing this if you can’t stop tensing your _knees._ ”

“And here I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” Karen says, managing to crack a smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Murdock. I’ll be too busy taking you down to worry about my knees.”

It’s a meaningless jab –- both of them know that she’s not at Matt’s level -– but it’s something she wonders about as she steps into the ring. What is she hoping to gain from this? That if she lands enough blows on Matt, Daredevil will come out to play?

 _Let’s play this out,_ Ben’s voice says in her head, and she thinks that maybe she should have thought this through more.

Matt steps into the ring. No suit, no tinted glasses, no cane: he looks almost completely bare without any of his props. Only taped hands and a careful smile shield him from her gaze now. He pulls on his gloves, and his eyes focus somewhere around Karen’s shoulder. “Ready?”

She swallows heavily, raises her own gloves. “Ready.”

They circle each other for fewer than ten seconds before one of them attacks. Karen’s not surprised -- neither of them are patient enough to wait.

Shockingly enough, Matt strikes first, but he’s slow, only testing the waters. Karen’s easily able to slip past the punch and immediately counter with a jab. Matt doesn’t even bother dodging, just blocks the blow with his arms.

Matt nods his head. “Not too bad.”

“‘Not too bad?’ Just wait until Foggy sees the bruise that’s going to be there tomorrow,” Karen teases. “Then we’ll see if he agrees that I’m ‘not too bad.’”

Matt’s jaw stiffens. He lowers his hands slightly –- and that’s when Karen goes in again, lands another jab. It’s not particularly powerful, but it has the effect she wants. Before she can even get in the one-two combo, Matt’s focused again, dodging her punches with ease.

But he won’t do _more_ than that. He’s all footwork, no offense: no fury or passion. He throws his punches with the exact force and speed necessary to _look_ convincing but to still allow her to dodge them. Five minutes into the fight, he’s only tagged Karen once.

It’s _infuriating._

It’s not as if she wants to fight Daredevil, but she wants more than _this._ She deserves _more_ than this.

Karen snarls in frustration. She lets forth a barrage of blows that carry only a little of the skill she’s been honing for these past few months. It doesn’t matter. She has speed, she has power, and most importantly of all, she has _anger._

It’s the anger that finally spurs Matt into action. It bypasses Matt’s carefully constructed façade, triggers his instinct to dodge, to weave, to _fight._ He’s still pulling his punches, still slowing down for her. Karen wouldn’t still be standing if he weren’t. But he’s lost himself, just a bit, to the gripping, intoxicating rhythm of the fight.

Karen eyes him as he pulls back. Sweat mats his hair, his eyes are unfocused as he keeps his head tilted toward her. Listening for her movements. Karen jumps toward him, tries to land another blow, quickly ducks back when he bobs under it.

Matt circles her. His hands are already up, he’s ready to try another jab, and-

And this is why people say that Karen pushes too hard. Because _this_ –- this fight -- should be proof enough. Hell, seeing him smile in that _courtroom_ should have been proof enough.

But once Karen’s grabbed onto something, she doesn’t know how to stop, no matter what the consequences are. Ben was proof of that.

Karen pulls her glove off. She reaches into her pocket, grabs her phone, and _throws_ it at Matt.

She’s got good aim -- it would have hit any other person straight between the eyes. But because it’s Matt –- because he’s unguarded and _raw_ in the ring -– he catches it between his gloves, twists around, and throws it right back at her.

Her left hand is still up, so it catches most of the blow, but the phone still smacks her in the eye before dropping to the floor. She thinks she hears the screen crack. Karen lifts a shaking hand to cradle her eye. Her blood pounds in her ears, blocking out everything but the sound of her staccato inhales and exhales.

Matt’s mouth is pressed into a tight line. His fists are still up.

“You-” he tries to say, still locked into their fight’s single-minded, furious tempo, but Karen cuts him off.

“You’re Daredevil.”

Matt recoils, finally lowers his hands. “You- all this was to- you said this was so you could _protect_ yourself. You weren’t _lying._ ”

Matt’s not denying it. Shouldn’t that be satisfying? Karen finally has what she wanted. She has her proof.

But she still doesn’t feel satisfied. She just feels tired.

“I did want to protect myself,” Karen says. “But it’s a bit hard to do that when my friends are keeping secrets from me.”

Matt wipes at his jaw, then winces when the rough texture of the gloves meets his skin. He rips them off, squeezing his eyes shut. “Your…your eye will bruise, but it- it doesn’t sound like anything’s broken. You should be fine.”

“Matt?” Karen calls after him, as he steps out of the ring. “Matt, wait. We need to _talk_ about this!”

Matt’s out the door before she can say another word. He doesn’t even bother to take the tape off his hands before he leaves.

 

***

 

“What the _hell_ happened?” Foggy asks.

Karen touches her eye gingerly. Matt was right about the bruise. She’d woken up this morning to find it spread across her eye, purple and mottled and ugly. “Matt and I-”

“Matt did this?”

Karen’s never heard Foggy’s voice sound so full of ice. Not even when he’d declared the end of Nelson and Murdock all those months ago.

“Kind of,” Karen says. “Foggy, let me explain-”

“Yes, explain it to me! Please do! Because I don’t understand _any_ of this,” Foggy exclaims. “I don’t understand how either of you thought this boxing thing was a good idea. You show up to work with a bruise on your face that Matt _put there_ , and he hasn’t bothered to show up for work because he can’t even face what he did-”

Karen is trembling. She can’t deal with this. She can’t deal with their firm cracking and breaking all over again: all because she pushed too hard.

“I know that he’s Daredevil,” she blurts out.

Her words do the trick. They stop Foggy in his tracks.

“W-what? Karen, that’s crazy. Just because he got a good punch in doesn’t mean he’s _Daredevil_ ,” Foggy manages. He’s a better liar than Matt, but that’s not saying much. His hands still shake, his voice still cracks.

“He didn’t just get in a good punch, Foggy,” Karen says. “I threw my phone at him while we were sparring and he _caught it out of the air._ He caught it and threw it right back at me. Did it without missing a beat.”

“Jesus,” Foggy sighs. “What an idiot. Well...now you know. Welcome to the club, I guess. We don’t have free t-shirts. Just lots of swearing matches with the stubborn little shit with the horns and-”

Foggy cuts himself off mid-sentence, frowns. “Wait a minute. You said that you threw your _phone_ at him. Why did you do that?”

“I…”

“Fucking hell,” Foggy groans. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew, and you convinced Matt to fight with you just so that you could prove it.”

“Foggy, I-”

“Save it,” Foggy says. He sags into his chair. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Is _nothing_ ever on the level with you and Matt?”

“Foggy, that’s not fair."

“No, it’s not. But neither is my two best friends _lying_ to me, but since that’s what keeps happening-”

“You two have been lying to _me_! This whole fucking time!”

Foggy flinches, looks away. “Karen…”

“I understand why you guys kept it a secret,” Karen interrupts him. “That’s kind of the point of a secret identity, I get it. But during that whole thing with Fisk, when you and Matt were fighting, I…”

 _I was drowning_. _I was_ drowning _and you both said_ nothing. _You left me alone, you left me out of one of the most important conversations of your lives._

She takes a shaky breath. “I know that the sign on that door says Nelson and Murdock, but there are three people in this firm, Foggy. Not two.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Foggy says quietly. “I wanted to tell you, but…it wasn’t my secret to tell, I guess. Still isn’t. Matt would probably be pissed if he knew I was talking to you about this.”

Karen shakes her head. “Foggy Nelson, you really are one of a kind. You’re mad at him, and you’re _still_ keeping his secrets. Still trying to keep me safe from the shit storm that is Matt Murdock’s sea of issues. I…I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well I’m not like you and Matt, so…that makes it easier, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s easier to do that kind of stuff when you trust someone,” Foggy explains. “And despite the universe _screaming_ at me not to, I trust the two of you.” Foggy says it simply -– a bit wearily, a bit resigned, but simply. As if this is a fact he’s long since come to accept.

“Foggy…” Karen hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. “We do trust you.”

“Yeah, no you don’t,” Foggy snorts. “Well…maybe you both trust me, but definitely not like I trust you. Which is fine, it’s -– okay, scratch that, it’s _not_ fine and it’s definitely not fair, but. You both have histories, trust issues. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Karen says. “Foggy, I’m. I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to…This is all my fault.”

“Hey, hey,” Foggy says, standing up. He gently pulls Karen into a hug. “If anyone’s at fault here, it’s Matt. Seriously, don’t dismiss his usefulness as a scapegoat. Ever since I found out about the Daredevil thing, I’ve just been blaming him for everything.”

“Yeah?” Karen laughs, still blinking away a few tears. She buries her head in his shoulder. Foggy smells like cheap shampoo and the dusty mildew flavor they can’t get out of their office. Somewhere along the line, these scents became ones that set off signal flares in her brain: ones of _safety, comfort, home._

“Oh yeah,” Foggy says. “Pretty sure I blamed him for Hannibal getting cancelled the other week. Why? Couldn’t tell you. I think I said it was because no one wanted artsy, religious visual metaphors when there was an actual man dressed as a literal devil running around.”

Karen snorts. “Foggy, that’s terrible.”

“It is,” Foggy says. He rubs a comforting hand on her back. “And you can tell him as much when you see him again. He can’t avoid us forever, Karen. We’ll talk this out, like _adults,_ for _once,_ and then we’ll find something inconsequential to blame him for -– I’m thinking the broken stapler maybe -– and then we’ll order Mexican and it will all be okay.”

“Italian.”

“Chinese. That way we can make Matt try to guess what the fortune cookies say.”

Karen smiles into Foggy’s shoulder. “Sounds like a plan, counselor.”

 

***

 

Matt can’t avoid them forever, but he does manage to avoid them for two days. Matt and Karen usually have their lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Matt ditches work on Wednesday, and manages to be in court all day on Thursday. Karen has no reason to think that he’ll be at the gym that night, but she goes anyway. After the week she’s had, she needs this: the calming, ritualized of taping her hands. The steady one-two that is her letting her frustrations out on the boxing bag.

“Good form.”

Karen startles, keeps her fists up as she turns toward the door. Matt’s there, carrying his gym bag like this is just another lesson. Like he hasn’t been avoiding her for the past two days.

“You’re late,” she says.

Matt shifts his bag where it rests on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? For being late, or for avoiding me?” Karen lowers her fists, takes a deep breath. This isn’t how she wants this conversation to go. “I’m sorry too.”

“For hitting me with a phone, or for lying to me?”

Karen's jaw tightens. “You’re one to talk about lying,” she says evenly.

Matt winces. “I...I never _wanted_ to lie to you.”

“I know, Matt."

Matt frowns. He seems surprised that she’s not angrier. So is she, truth be told. Maybe later she’ll manage to feel angry about all this. Maybe later she’ll yell and scream herself hoarse about it. But right now…right now, it’s just not in her.

Karen doesn’t want to be angry anymore. She just wants _answers._

Matt clears his throat. “You knew who I was before you asked me to box. How?”

“It was just a hunch at first,” Karen admits. “But it made sense. You always show up to work injured the day after Daredevil makes an arrest. If Daredevil’s on the news, Matt Murdock doesn’t answer his phone. I just followed the evidence, like Ben taught me.”

“And that evidence included throwing a phone at me?” Matt says, raising an eyebrow,

“It worked, didn’t it? You caught it…somehow,” Karen says. “I looked at your medical records. I know you’re not faking being blind, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“You looked at my medical records?”

“I told you, I followed the evidence,” Karen says, refusing to feel guilty about that. Matt dresses up as the devil and beats people up at night –- she’s pretty sure that she still has the moral high ground here. For the most part, at least.

Matt sighs. “The chemicals that blinded me enhanced my other senses. I don’t need to see to know where things are.”

Well. It’s not the _most_ ridiculous thing Karen’s ever heard. Still…

“So, let me get this straight. You get superpowers, learn martial arts, and then you just start…fighting crime in a devil costume? I feel like I’m missing a few steps here.”

Matt grins. “Yeah, it’s a _bit_ more complicated than that.”

They end up moving their conversation into the ring. Matt sits cross-legged beside her and tells her everything –- well, a truncated version of everything. Even then, it’s a lot to take in.

“So the devil is a symbol,” Karen says slowly. “Does that…I’m sorry, but does that make wearing the suit feel any less ridiculous?”

“I thought you said the suit was an upgrade,” Matt pouts -– actually _pouts,_ because Karen insulted his superhero costume. _This_ is the man who has the criminal element of Hell’s Kitchen cowering in fear.

“I did,” Karen says, not bothering to lie. She knows how useless _that_ would be now. “But it still has _horns_ , Matt.”

“It’s not like I know what it looks like. All I know is that it’s effective: it scares people.”

“And that’s what you want?” Karen asks curiously. Even after knowing his secret for months, it’s hard to reconcile law-abiding attorney Matt Murdock with _Daredevil._ Sitting here beside her, he still just seems like _Matt._

Matt shrugs. “It’s effective.”

It’s not a no.

“Was…was Fisk scared?” Karen asks. “When you took him down?”

“I-I think so...” Matt breathes. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. His heart was already racing, from being on the run. I think…I think he was scared. But I don’t know if it was of me, or -– or just of finally getting caught.”

And this…this is the question that Karen knows she shouldn’t ask. This conversation is already a fragile one. Pushing for more could break everything to pieces all over again.

But Karen needs to know. She needs to know why Fisk lived while so many others died.

“Why didn’t you ever kill him?”

“I…I almost did,” Matt whispers. He abandons his lotus position in favor of pulling his knees to his chest. “I went after him once, before anyone knew what he really was. I wanted- I wanted to kill him. I _tried_ to kill him –- I nearly died trying. And then…do you remember what I told you, when we first started training?”

“First started lessons,” Karen corrects him gently. After hearing about Stick, the distinction seems important.

Matt nods, chagrined. He leans into the touch when Karen lays a forgiving hand on his knee.

“I remember, Matt,” Karen says. “You said that there are principles you have to follow when you step into the ring. Otherwise, it’s just destroying another person. But maybe some people _deserve_ that.”

“Maybe,” Matt says. “But it would’ve destroyed me too. It nearly _did_ destroy Foggy, when he found out. And I can’t…I can’t _do_ that again, to either of us. To any of us.”

“It wouldn’t have destroyed you,” Karen says, her throat tight. She can’t believe that. She can’t believe that killing another person could destroy you, because then-

“It would be against my principles,” Matt insists. “And what am I, if I don’t follow my principles?”

“You’re Matt Murdock,” Karen says. She pulls her hand away. Leans her head against the ropes, closes her eyes. “Principles aren’t everything a person is, Matt. Not everyone can afford to follow them –- even if we’d like to.”

It’s not something that she blames Matt for. He can’t help it. His origin story includes super senses and martial arts training, and hers-

Hers includes mace on a keychain and stolen gunpowder staining her hands.

That’s just how it goes. She doesn’t blame Matt for that.

“Karen?” Matt says. He places a hesitant hand on her knee, mirroring her touch from moments ago. “Is there…is there anything you want to tell me?”

Karen doesn’t say anything for a long time. And then she decides that she’s tired of not saying anything. She’s tired of trying to hold the pieces of herself together and hoping that Foggy and Matt won’t notice her doing so.

“Do you remember Wesley? Fisk's right hand man?” she says, tears stinging at her eyes already.

Matt tenses. “Yes.”

“He…he kidnapped me. Told me to stop looking into Fisk, otherwise he’d- he’d kill everyone I know. He’d kill you, and Foggy, and-and _Ben_ , and then. And then he’d kill me. He even put a gun on the table just in case that part wasn’t clear...It was pointing _right_ at me, Matt. But then he got phone call, got distracted...so I grabbed the gun and I shot him,” she breathes. “I killed him, to get away. I… _destroyed_ another person so that I could live.”

Hugs don’t come as naturally to Matt as they do to Foggy. Matt’s too stiff, uncertain: like hugging is something he read about in a manual somewhere, but isn’t entirely sure how to execute.

But when Matt puts his arms around her, a weight in Karen’s chest _lifts_ and she can finally _breathe_ again. She practically clings to him, probably hugging him too hard -– but he’s a superhero. Karen figures he can take a bit of extreme hugging.

“It was self-defense,” Matt murmurs into her hair.

“We’re not talking about the law here, Matt. We’re talking about what’s right.”

“I know.” Matt shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Karen’s glad that he doesn’t try to convince her that it’s not her fault. That her actions were justified. She knows these things already. But she also knows that the weight of a life taken -– the destruction of a person –- burns inside her all the same.

Matt says that he’s never killed, but Karen suspects that he still knows what that weight feels like. Because his response to her guilt is _I’m sorry,_ not some platitude. He just says _I’m sorry you have to carry this weight too._

It’s enough. Karen pulls away from the hug and wipes her eyes. “Thank you,” she says.

“Of course. Can…can I ask-”

“You can ask more about it, but not- not right now,” Karen whispers. “Please, Matt, just…not right now. I need you _and_ Foggy to be here when I talk about it. So that I only have to tell it once.Oh _God,_ Foggy. Who knows what he’ll think of me.”

“Foggy’s a forgiving guy. He forgave _me_ after all,” Matt says with a tight little grimace. “He’ll do the same for you.”

“Maybe. But it’s not fair to him,” Karen says. “God, he’ll be so disappointed…just one more secret we’ve kept from him. No wonders he thinks we don’t trust him.”

Matt tilts his head toward her. “He said that?”

“Yeah. Or, at least, that we don’t trust him like he trusts us. I guess I can’t argue with that,” she says.

Matt leans his head against his knees. “I’m trying to trust him,” he murmurs. “I really am, I just…”

“Old habits die hard,” Karen says. She slouches down so that she can lean her head against his shoulder. He’s a solid, warm weight beside her. She closes her eyes again.

“I’ve been trying to earn back his trust,” Matt says. “To be the friend that he deserves. I’m trying not to hide things from him anymore.”

“Ignoring his voicemails for the last two days might have been a step backwards then,” Karen says gently.

Matt groans. “Not really looking forward to explaining that.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Matt’s pouting again or maybe it’s the sheer _relief_ of having confessed her secret. Or maybe Karen’s just finally cracked. But she starts giggling and giggling and then she can’t _stop._ She spends a full minute burying her face in her hands, trying to smother her small hiccups of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, shaking her head when Matt raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s not even funny, it’s just…God. Why do we keep doing this? Keeping secrets and ignoring each other’s voicemails and just…everything.”

Matt manages to crack a smile, even if it’s tinged with bitterness. “It’s like you said: old habits die hard.”

“Yeah, well, it needs to stop. I’m so…I’m _so_ sick of this,” Karen groans. “Even when we’re all talking, we’re not. It’s like a big game of telephone. I talk to Foggy, then I talk to you, then you talk to Foggy –- and so on and so on. And we do all of that just to guess at what the other person _might_ be thinking.”

“I always hated telephone,” Matt sighs.

Karen moves her head off of his shoulder and looks at him. “Yeah?”

“I could hear the original phrase,” Matt says, tapping his ear. “Kind of takes the fun out of it all.”

Karen snorts. “I don’t suppose your super hearing can fix our communication issues, can it?”

“Tends to actually make them worse, from my experience,” Matt says. “Looks like we’ll just have to fix them ourselves.”

“Yeah? Do you have something in mind?"

“I think,” Matt says, “that we all need to have a talk. Not you and me, not Foggy and me, not you and Foggy -– all three of us, in the same room, talking. About all of this.”

“I think Foggy would like that,” Karen says. “And it would at least stop our game of telephone. Maybe we’ll even make it a movie night. You know, try to make the whole thing a _bit_ less solemn and depressing.”

Matt smirks. “Fight Club?”

Maybe Matt’s boxing lessons _have_ paid off, because he actually winces when Karen punches him in the shoulder. Of course, given the super senses, he probably knew the blow was coming anyway.

“No Fight Club,” Karen says. She points a finger at him, knowing that he can sense it. “That would be incredibly cliché of us to do, and we’re above all that.”

“Of course,” Matt says diplomatically. “It’s a shame though. I think Foggy would have really liked those scenes with shirtless Brad Pitt.”

Karen laughs and tries to hit him again, but this time he easily evades the blow. She knows it’s a lost cause anyway. By the time they’ve called Foggy and let him know the plan, it’s already been settled: shirtless Brad Pitt (and shirtless Brad Pitt’s voice) is on the agenda for their Talk Like Adults Movie Night.

That’s actually fine by Karen. As long as _her_ life stops being an emotionally constipated fight club, she’s pretty sure that she can handle a movie.


End file.
